


coffee, sweaters, pancakes

by lazybug



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Lots and lots of sweaters, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sweaters, and pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 15:07:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazybug/pseuds/lazybug
Summary: The loft's window cracked and it's pretty cold. Stiles' clothes got ruined, and slept over on the couch, naked in a blanket. So he steals a sweater in the morning.





	coffee, sweaters, pancakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [releasethecracker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/releasethecracker/gifts).



> Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine, if you find any and want me to fix, lemme know in a comment!!  
> PS: A sploot is the way a corgi lays with its back legs behind it, fyi

Let it be known that Stiles doesn’t hate the cold. He doesn’t. As long as he can wear multiple layers and maybe a beanie (or two). 

He doesn’t hate the cold, until the huge wall of windows in the loft cracks a bit and the wind howls and whistles through it. And his entire wardrobe from the night prior is coated in a sheen coat of monster goop and gore. He’s not one to rummage through other people’s clothes unless he has to. 

So yeah, he hates the cold. 

It’s seven in the morning by the time he stretches, cracks his aching joints, and wracks through an entire body shiver. The sun’s just peeking out of the horizon and a deep purple glow surrounds it. Maybe he’d appreciate the view more if it wasn’t so fucking cold.

The blanket from the couch is wrapped tightly around his body when he pads along the floor to get the coffee maker going. 

Derek passed out, exhausted, last night before Stiles even stumbled back to the loft. He thinks the pack was supposed to meet up there, you know, to make sure nobody was dead, but whatever. 

He managed to take a shower without waking Derek and was promptly dead to the world.

So here he was, teeth chattering, waiting for the bitter smell of coffee to overwhelm his senses. His toes felt like ice. And don’t even ask about the other extremities. 

It takes some serious willpower, but he staves off stealing clothes for a whole ten minutes. Until he sees the huge, warm, enticing, morning, cable knit sweaters hanging on the wardrobe rack. As soon as the gray fabric is over his head, a soft sigh sounds and a smile plays at his lips. “Good God, how the fuck doesn’t he live in this thing?” he whispers, entirely to himself. 

And it has thumb holes. Thumb holes. 

The sweater feels like a hug from the fluffiest, most incredible dog he’s ever met. Wolf. Whatever. It falls a little big, just covering his ass, but he thinks even Derek wanted it to be big. Hot men in big sweaters. Cable knit, thumb holed sweaters. 

Stiles is going to have an aneurysm just thinking about it. 

But he hears the coffee pot whirr its ending sound and shuffles along to his main source of energy. With the mug firmly held in between his sweater paws, he takes the first sip and nearly moans, the heat spreading warmly down into his stomach. He loves coffee.

An hour later, and another cup of coffee, and he’s moving around the kitchen, pancakes simmering on the skillet. Some with sprinkles, some with blueberries, some plain. He even threw on some of them with Derek’s chocolate protein powder. They might not taste very good, but at least he tried. 

Around 8:30, Derek finally stirs. Of course, Stiles can see him take in the chill, sniff at the air, and quietly smile with his eyes still shut. And he climbs out of his messy bed, dark grey sweatpants hugging his hips and thighs, riding up along his ankles. His hair is matted on one side, feathery and soft on the other. God, there’s lines from his pillow indented on his cheek. 

As his toes hit the floor, his shoulders hitch up, a chill running down his spine. It’s cute, seeing him be affected by something so simple. And Stiles’ heart punches hard against his ribcage once or twice. 

If he thought that was bad, he almost hit the floor when he saw Derek reach around to throw on a dusty pink pullover. It had a cartoon corgi on it, sleeping soundly, its legs out far behind it, one ear down, one up. Sploot.

Sleepy, Derek made his way over to the kitchen, eyes barely cracked, accepting a mug of coffee, nearly white with how much milk is in it. “You know how I take my coffee,” he says, voice croaky and oddly warmly toned. He sounded surprised too. 

But it couldn’t be that surprising, Stiles has known Derek for years now, spent countless hours by his side. And his heart feels all gooey and full now, like it does when he’s around Derek. He feels warm all over. And a flush rushes from his chest all the way up to his cheeks when he remembers what he’s wearing...which is nothing but Derek’s sweater. 

“Pancakes,” Stiles says, like that actually makes any sense at all. He’s still staring at that damn sweater. Maybe Cora got it for him. 

Rather than stare, like he assumes he’s been doing, he rushes to flip multiple, almost burnt, pancakes onto a plate. He presents said plate to Derek, hoping it’ll be distraction enough. 

Derek has a sleepy smile plastered on his face now, a half-asleep tilt to his head. He looks dopey and gorgeous and Stiles positively melts. 

“A man after my own heart,” Derek mumbles, stuffing half a pancake in his mouth, folded taco style. Stiles momentarily thinks Derek has been drugged. But nothing from last night could’ve done anything, so he throws that thought away. It doesn’t mean his heart slows, though.

And it really doesn’t when Derek puts down the plate and steps into Stiles person space, eyes shut, and wraps his arms around Stiles’ neck, nuzzling against his jawline and cheek. “You don’t even know, do you?” he sighs, “You make me so happy.” He hums, continues, “Let me get you some more clothes, don’t want you freezing. And then we can have those pancakes and coffee. Good?” 

Derek looks at him then, expression openly soft and hopeful. Stiles is sure he looks shocked and maybe a little bit scared, but he nods, gulping loudly. 

And when Derek returns with some sweatpants, Stiles puts them on and moves to sit on the couch. He’s stopped, though, Derek’s hand encircling his wrist lightly, “Hey. Tell me, you know, if you don’t…” 

“Want this?”

Derek just nods, and Stiles is speechless. 

Derek, seemingly half asleep but sincere as hell, is telling him that he wants a relationship, that Stiles makes him happy, that he wants to make Stiles happy. 

Stiles grins, shakes his head, and takes Derek’s head in his hands, and kisses him as sweetly and full of everything he’s feeling as he can. 

“I really hope that means you do.”

“You’d be stupid to think otherwise.”

**Author's Note:**

> A very quick ficlet for my bestie Red bc we were discussing headcanons and this came up. I'm a sucker for sleepy Derek.   
> Also: the sweater, if anyone's curious https://kogiketsu.com/collections/kogiketsu-originals/products/sleepy-corgi-sweater?variant=39472802378


End file.
